Uber Love
by Simahoyo
Summary: This is a sequel to Full Circle, a Xena Fanfiction. Please read it first. Cross over with UberXena characters and Rizzoli and Isles. The Rizzoli and Isles parents are in trouble because their daughters died too soon. Can four Goddesses fix this?
1. Chapter 1

Uber Love

By Simahoyo

(This is a sequel to Full Circle, a Xena Fanfiction. Please read it first. Cross over with UberXena characters and Rizzoli and Isles. The Rizzoli and Isles parents are in trouble because their daughters died too soon. Can four Goddesses fix this?) **Author's note. My sister is named Constance, so my Constance can never be as cold or mean as portrayed elsewhere, because my sis keeps improving her.**

The Misty Isles: Timeless

Brigantia and Hope were summoned to the great room by one of the Nine Sisters. The fire burned warm in the stone fireplace, while the caldron rested at the feet of Creiddylad. She was seated upon her throne before the fire, and opposite her, on another throne, was Aphrodite. Both looked very serious indeed.

It had been some years since they had returned to the earth in human form, these daughters of Goddesses, and themselves Goddesses. Hope had returned first, then Brigantia. But the faces of their mothers said that something had gone wrong with their last incarnation.

They stood, holding hands, and looking on the faces of the Great Goddess of the Celts and the Greek Goddess of Love.

"Hi Hope, and Brig. We have something to talk to you about. It's serious love gone wrong, and , well, we can show you better than tell you.", said Aphrodite.

"Both must see, but each in her way. Come, my child, and drink from this." Creiddylad held a drinking horn filled with boiling liquid to Brigantia's lips, and she drank.

"Your turn, sweetie." Aphrodite beckoned to Hope, touching her heart, then her eyes.

Their dual vision unfolded.

Boston: 2009. St Benedict Cemetery. The grass was brown and crisp, as Frank and Angela Rizzoli walked to the grave marker. Their faces were worn with grief. Their dark fall clothing defended them against the weather, and they clutched flowers. Neither spoke. When they drew up to the headstone, Angela reached out and touched the name. "Jane Rizzoli". Frank's arm moved around her shoulders, and they placed the flowers.

"Janie. We miss you so much. Why did you have to go after that awful man alone? Couldn't you have waited?"

Frank stood, shaking his head. "I'd rather have you with us, damn it. Now Frankie quit the police force and is wasting his life as a plumber, he won't tell me, but he hates it."

Another couple entered, walking close by, and stopped at another grave. The name on the headstone was, "Maura Evangeline Isles". The death date was 1998. They were well-dressed, but

sorrow etched their faces as well.

The woman threw flowers at the headstone.

"Why did you leave me? I went all the way to Africa to get you and you died before I got to you.

Why? You didn't have to go."

Her husband turned, and took her arm, but she fell to her knees, crying.

He just wept.

Angela put aside her own sorrow, and approached them.

"There's nothing worse than losing a child."

"I know. It's been eleven years today, but we can't seem to move on. She was our only child."

"That's so hard. We lost our daughter last year.", said Frank. "We still have our sons, but it will never be the same."

The other mother stood up, eyes flashing. "It's how she died I can't get over. She was a doctor, and she went to Africa to volunteer. She was always stubborn, so she went to the Congo, and for her efforts, their army beat her to death.."

"Connie, calm down. They didn't have to hear that."

Angela took Connie by the hand. "It is worse when they die by violence. Janie was a homicide detective. We always knew she might die in the line of duty, but she was murdered by a serial killer. It's not the same as if it was disease or an accident."

Connie looked down, nodding. "Yes, it is. They are so precious, and she was such a good person, why would anyone want to do that to her?"

Frank looked at the Isles, "Yeah, it's hurts a lot more when they were good people trying to do the right thing."

"I guess we should get home now. I'm sorry you lost her. She sounds like a special person."

"Your daughter does too."

The vision ended with them standing still ...

Hope opened her eyes. "This is terrible. I had no idea she would take my death so badly. She's furious. She's been emptied of all that love she held inside."

Brigantia looked at her mother, puzzled. "Angela seems sad, but alright. She's not carrying on."

Creiddylad spoke quietly. "Look at her wrists."

Brigantia looked, and saw vertical scars on each wrist. "No. She would never try suicide. She's too good a catholic."

"She stopped going to church after your death."

Aphrodite solemnly spoke, "It's about love. Do you love them enough to fix this?"

"How? We gave up our human bodies." Hope's green eyes glittered with unshed tears.

"We can change time, if you will agree not to let go of life too soon. You will both suffer pain you barely remember, and fear you have forgotten. Do not leave them. They need you." Creiddylad's eyes bored into their's.

The young Goddesses nodded their agreement.


	2. Chapter 2

Uber Love

Chapter 2

Maura felt more pain than she ever had in her life. She wanted to scream again, but felt as if she was wrapped in cotton batting. She couldn't move. She didn't recall why she was in this state, only that everything hurt, even her hair. She was still, no more bouncing around. She listened. There was the familiar sound of monitors. Was she in a hospital?

Slowly it dawned on Maura that something was helping her breathe. This must be bad. Something inside her wished the pain would subside, but something else told her to fight. How had she gotten here? She started to think past the pain, analyzing. She recalled her name, Maura Isles. Doctor. Hmmm. In Boston? No, she could hear heavily accented English outside her cocoon of pain. Africa? Yes. Africa. She was in Africa, but why?

It took some thinking, but there was a picture in her head of a makeshift clinic and long lines of terribly disfigured women. Oh, yes, 'Doctors without Borders'. So, how had she become so injured? The roads in Africa were infamous. Maybe an accident. She tried to move, but any movement made the unbelievable pain even worse. Maura decided to stay still and let her brain do the walking around.

She listened to the sounds in the room. People walking. Others moving nearby. Cots creaking.

Footsteps came near. Someone was stopped. Paper rustled, and a pen scratched. Maura longed to see the chart. She tried to open her eyes, but they wouldn't move for her. She stopped, listening more. Another person walked up to her.

"Doctor, what is this patient's status?"

"She is still in a coma. She suffered a massive beating, with multiple internal injuries, possible brain damage, and she's unlikely to survive."

There it was. She was probably dying, halfway around the world from her family. Oh God, her parents! This would be so hard on them. She wanted to cry, but nothing happened. She thought about just letting go, but knew that there was a reason for her to stay–two reasons. So she hung on.

Maura returned to consciousness, at least inside her mind, and drifted, trying to ignore the ever present pain. She hear the steps of two people. And the sudden intake of breath. Suddenly, there was her mother's voice.

"I've never seen her so badly injured. Is she still in a coma?"

Maura desperately wanted to reach out. This was her mother, suddenly in Africa with her. She tried with all her might, but nothing would move. No tears would come. She was a prisoner in her own body.

The doctor's voice interrupted her thoughts. "She is still in a coma." I don't know if taking her to the U.S. will help, or hurt her condition."

"Let me stay with her, please."

The doctor must have agreed, because the footsteps leading away were heavy. And Maura could smell her mother's scent.

Now Maura could feel her mother's hand stroking her forehead. Carefully moving, as if she was afraid she could break her daughter.

"Please don't leave us. We love you so much. I swore that I would take care of you. Don't die."

Maura made a supreme effort and managed to mouth the word, "Mama."

She could feel tears on her skin, but they were still not her own. "Maura., you _are_ in there. Please keep fighting. I know you can fight, we two have had enough of them.

Maura again lost consciousness. Was her mother there? Or did she dream it? She could make out murmuring in French. Her mother was reciting children's poems to her. She relaxed into memories of her childhood. Her mother was there. But where was her Dad? Her mother had read her lips before, maybe she could do it again. Maura made a huge effort, and formed the word, "Dad."

"Where's Dad? He's home, arranging for you to go to the Boston Medical Center. When it's safe, we'll bring you back to Boston."

Maura tried hard to open her eyes. They wouldn't move, and she was angry. Suddenly tears formed from her eyes, and slid down her face.

"_Sweet bébé, continuer la lutte. Je peux voir vos larmes. continuer la lutte. Je peux voir vos larmes."_

Maura moved her lips to reply, "_Oui_."

They spent days working to get past this half-coma. Each communication was a struggle, but the

best was the day Maura finally was able to open her eyes. Everything was blurred, but she could open her eyes! After several minutes, the room cleared, and she could see her mother's face. Love flooded her being. But Maura couldn't read the expression on her Mother's face. Alarms went off in her head. Was it brain damage? She still couldn't speak. There was a breathing tube in her mouth. Her arms still wouldn't do what she wanted. Maura was suddenly scared. She would live, but what kind of life? Her mother hovered over her.

"What's wrong?"

Maura struggled hard to move her arms. She formed the word, "tube" and then, "out."

Constance called the doctor, relaying Maura's message.

The doctor looked closely at Maura. Watched her breathing, then gently removed the tube.

The slide out of her throat and mouth didn't hurt, but was very uncomfortable. She gagged a bit, then was able to breathe on her own.

Constance was immediately at her side, watching her breathe.

Maura worked to form words with sound. She was unable to speak normally yet, but could whisper. "Mom. I love you. I think I may have brain damage."

Her mother moved away quickly, and the doctor's face replaced hers.

You think you have brain damage? What makes you believe that?"

"I don't know the expression on my mother's or your face. Where is the injury?"

"You have several. The worst is in the right temporal lobe. I do not believe it will interfere with your life."

"I'm a doctor."

"Oh. I do hope someone in the United States can help you recover fully. You can be transferred now that you are alert and can breathe on your own."

"Thank you, doctor."

Constance returned to her field of vision.

"We have a private jet to take you home. There are medical staff at the Boston Medical Center waiting to help you."

The long trip was worth forgetting. Maura was now in The Boston Medical Center, where she had worked as an intern. The familiar surroundings helped her relax, and the good drugs relieved much of the pain. She knew they had operated on the worst of her internal injuries. Now she was waiting to see about possible brain damage.

The neurologist came in, cranking her bed upright.

"Hi, Maura. Do you remember me?"

Maura racked her brain, or what was left of it. There was a little something...

"Ramy?"

"That's pretty good. It's Bud Raimi. We interned together–well, I was a resident by the time your class came along. I have some tests for you to see what exactly is going on. You've probably done this test from the other side. It's to see how well you can recognize things on each side of your brain."

She followed the instructions, but knew she was failing to see what was supposed to be on the right side. The shapes were not clear enough. Would she be limited the rest of her life? She swallowed the lump in her throat.

"Doctor Raimi. What are my chances of healing? Of going back to my work?"

"We don't know yet. You'll have to get a CAT scan, so we can see what exactly is going on in there. And before you ask, you cannot read your medical file. The last thing I need is arguing with you about your care."

Maura laughed. It sounded funny. It was probably the first time she had laughed since...She couldn't even think the word.

She was resting after the noise and closeness of the MRI. Maura had not seen her Mother for a few days, and wondered why. She had been such a strong presence. It was visiting hours, and Maura needed someone with her. Not doctors, even those she knew, but people who loved her.

The sound of footsteps drew her eyes to the door of her room.

"Dad!"

"Hi Kiddo. I finally made my get away from the salt mines. How are you feeling?"

"Better. Kind of. I missed you. And where's Mom?"

He leaned over and kissed her forehead. "She's gone cavewoman again. I don't know how long this one will last. I'm sorry."

He meant that her mother was locked in her studio, painting. She refused to come out, even for food, until she was finished. It was something like a meeting of creative outburst with depression.

"Shit.", said Maura.

Her father laughed. "You are recovering. Are you getting a head start on your next argument with her?"

"I'm not that recovered. Look, Dad, I have probable brain damage. They don't know how bad it is yet. I'm scared I will not be able to operate or diagnose properly. And I don't know how well my hands will work yet."

"With your abilities, I trust completely that you can adjust, and do something else you like. But since they don't know, maybe you're worrying too much ahead of time. In the theatre they say, 'So and So is a triple threat.' It means they can sing dance and act. With all you can do, you are a

dodecal threat."

"I hope so, Dad.. When Mom comes out, please get her to come and see me."

The next two weeks was like walking on thin ice. Maura mentally held her breath. Finally the diagnosis was in. The brain damage was minimal, and would probably heal with time. Her mother finally emerged, smelling of turpentine. And her hand therapist told her that she was in great shape. It was time to go home.

Maura knew there was a lot of work ahead of her, but the worst was over.

But what of Brigantia?


	3. Chapter 3

Uber Love

Chapter 3

The feeling of being helpless hurt nearly as much as her hands. The scalpels pinned them out to each side like a lurid crucifix. Charles Hoyt sat on her legs. His breath was a stench adding to the feeling of being a prisoner. He held a scalpel in his hand, grinning–leering.

"How does it feel to know that I can end your life anytime I want, Detective?"

Her father's voice went off in her head, "Don't let the bastard win."

Jane obeyed her father, and spat in Hoyt's face, He paused to wipe the spittle away, and leaned slightly to the left, Jane pushed him over with her right leg. She tried to trap him between her knees, but he fought his way upright, and back to sit on her diaphragm.

"Naughty, naughty. Now I'll have to slow down, so we can enjoy our time together. Maximum pleasure, for me at least."

He pressed the blade against her throat, and began to cut. It did hurt, but not as much as she expected it to. Was this it? Jane heard a sound beside her. Korsack was beside them, gun drawn.

Hoyt didn't stop. Korsack called out.

"Police. Stop.!"

"But we are so enjoying this, officer."

Korsack shot him in the shoulder, pushing Hoyt over with his foot. Korsak leaned over Jane.

"Rizzoli." He took out a handkerchief, pulled out one scalpel, and stanched the blood.

"I have tissues in my pocket",said Jane, with an effort.

Korsak took them out and repeated the effort with her right hand.

Eventually the ambulance and medics arrived, taking Jane to the hospital.

Jane Rizzoli was not a person who sat still well. She hated hospitals, hated feeling helpless and hated being prodded and poked. She wished the damn doctors and others would go away, but they kept working on her. At least it didn't hurt as bad as before.

Everybody came to see her–the entire extended Rizzoli family, her work family, every doctor in the damn hospital, a shrink to peek inside her head, and Father Giosia, representing the church she wanted nothing to do with. Was this Hell? It seemed like it. And Father G. had bugged her since catechism classes. Now he walked in and sat down like he owned the place. He smiled at her. She glared back. People in the hospital aren't expected to be cheerful. If she'd had the strength, she would have thrown him out.

"It's good to see you, Jane Rizzoli. How are you feeling?"

"Rotten. Go away."

"Oh, you don't really mean that..."

"Like Hell. Beat it and don't come back." Jane fixed him with a death stare. "Now!"

She was happy to see him go. What Jane did not need right now was a bunch of God talk. She went to sleep again, hoping to keep people away. But sleeping just brought Hoyt to her in living color. Her eyes popped open, her face was sweaty and her breath ragged. She didn't want to be alone, and couldn't stand to face anyone. This was not working.

A man in a suit knocked at her open door. Jane looked at him. He looked like an Insurance salesman.

"Who are you?"

"I'm Bishop Frey. I'm a Chaplain here. I thought I might drop in and see if you wanted to talk."

"You sure aren't dressed like a Bishop."

"I'm not Catholic. Father G and I traded, since you threw him out and my congregant threw me out."

"Huh? Ok, but don't cross the line with me. I'm not in any mood to talk about God and stuff."

The Bishop walked in, and waited. Jane nodded at a chair, and he sat down.

"What are you in the mood to talk about?"

"I don't know. I'm scared to go to sleep. Nightmares, you know."

"Yes, I do. I fought in the Gulf War. I still relive some of that."

Yeah, well, I'm a cop. Sorta the same thing I guess."

"Yeah, You made the paper."

"Oh God! That's all I need. I never had any privacy growing up, and I guess I never will."

"I grew up in a farm family. Four sisters and me. Then the army. Now I've got my own kids, and they don't understand that Mommy and Daddy don't need them in our bedroom all the time. I can relate."

"Okay, I know I said I didn't want any God talk, but I need to ask you, how can God exist and let all this crap happen especially to kids?"

"Well, let we ask you some belief questions. I expect you may not agree with everything your church may teach. So, do you believe in God at all?"

"Nope. Or this stuff couldn't happen."

"Is that because you think God is all powerful?". The bishop leaned back in his chair.

"Yep."

"Can God do bad things and still be God?" He kept back, giving her space.

Jane thought for a while. "I don't know."

"Ok, suppose that God set things up so we have the freedom to be good or bad. If we had that freedom, could God make us be good?" He was talking with his hands now.

"I guess not. So you think God let's us do our thing, even the creeps and killers?"

"Seems that way to me." His face was non-threatening.

"That sounds different from the way I was taught."

"Well, each church emphasizes certain parts of the Bible and so forth, but it all comes from the same source.. If you are used to a certain emphasis, and ways of wording things, maybe I can help you look at things a different way. You don't have to agree with me." And he smiled.

"Good. I hate being told what to think."

"I noticed. So, I think that if God won't force people to be good, he keeps himself from interfering, even if what people do must make him really sick." His eyes went sharp, as if he wasn't super impressed with some human behavior either.

"I'll think about it. Doesn't mean you have converted me or anything."

"Don't worry. I've got enough stray lambs in my own congregation. I hope Father G's doing okay with my congregant. He's a tough guy–likes to make up scriptures. It was nice talking to you. Have a good night." He got up and took off.

Jane thought about some of what he said, picked out what made sense to her, and discarded the rest. She also had to chuckle at the two Chaplains trading their parishioners. Pretty sneaky.

Jane managed to sleep a bit before the Hand Therapist showed up. She looked nice enough, but Jane suspected that working with her would involve pain. Lot's of pain. She set up a table where she could put Jane's hands down flat. She took Jane's right hand and examined it, looking hard at the wounds. Then she repeated the process with her left hand. She took out tools that Jane hadn't seen since geometry class.

"The stitches came out when?"

"Day before yesterday."

"You are healing nicely. I want you to start with your right hand. Show me how far you can bend this finger."

As Jane tried to bend the finger, the therapist measured it with her protractor looking thing. Jane was appalled at how little she could bend it. They repeated with each finger in turn. Then the left hand. She wrote the numbers for each finger.

"Okay, now I'm going to apply heat. It will hurt some, but you'll find that you can move better after."

Jane's hands were wrapped in moist towels, then put inside a large heating pad. She sat, annoyed at having to stay still. This took forever. And it did start to burn. After a bit, it seemed as if her hands were on fire. She gritted her teeth. Finally the therapist took her hands out, and unwrapped them. The measuring started all over again, and Jane could see a tiny difference.

"Hey, look I can move them more."

"We'll work on this every day, and exercises. I think you'll see a real difference in a few weeks."

"I hope I will be able to shoot a handgun soon. I have to go back to work."

"I'd worry more about being able to use a pen, open cans and tie shoes. It's everyday things that you'll need to work on. I'm going to leave this catalogue for you. It shows tools you can use to do things that could be really hard for you."

Jane took the catalogue and tried to flip through it.

"I can't even read it. I didn't know it would be this hard."

The therapist opened to a page with special pens.

"Look at how big they are. That's so they can fit your hand even if you can't close it the same way you used to. Or you could use something like this."

She pulled a tube from her bag. It was rubber foam.

"This will help you eat, write–lots of things. Look." She took a fork out of her bag, slipped the tube over the handle, and handed it to Jane. Jane's fingers wouldn't close around it.

"Not yet, I guess. Ma will love it. She'll get to feed me like a little kid. Ya know, Dad's a plumber and I've seem him use stuff like this. I'll bet he could get some for me for next to nothing."

"That's good thinking. Talk to him about it. And don't get too upset with your mother. You will need help eating for a while, and if she's willing..."

"Oh God! That's all I need. Maybe a volunteer will be willing to, uh, volunteer."

Then Jane heard an all too familiar voice.

"Volunteer to do what, Janie?"

"Hi Ma. I can't hold a fork yet, so until I can I'll need help eating." Jane sounded deflated.

The Hand Therapist excused herself and left Jane to face her mother on her own.

Angela smiled in ecstasy. "I'd love to feed you. Anything I can do to help, I'm willing."

"Oh God.", thought Jane "I want to growl at her to go away., but she looks so happy. Damnit."

"Uh, ok. I don't know how long. And does Dad have those foam tube things like this." Jane showed her mother the tube.

"Yeah. I'll have him bring you some."

"Ma, How long do I have to stick around here? Did they say anything to you?"

Angela thinned her lips She looked away from Jane, then back.

"You can't even feed yourself. I think you'd better plan on being here a while. Or..."

"Or what? Ma?"

"You could stay with us until you can do more for yourself." Angela winced in preparation.

"What the Hell, Ma? I'm over thirty. I could get a home caregiver and stay at my place."

"Janie, it's a waste of money when your father and I can do it for you for free. You love my cooking. So, what's wrong with staying at home for a couple of weeks?"

"I'll feel like a helpless little kid."

"But Janie, you could get out of bed, wear your own clothes, eat food you like. _Be more independent _than you are here." Angela used her pleading look.

Jane was torn. Her mother was right, and she'd rather eat nails than admit that her mother was right, She leaned her head back–needing distance between them.

"Oh God. What a choice." Jane faced her mother. "Okay, Okay. I'm stay with you. Just don't treat me like a little kid."

And so peace reigned for one full minute. Deep inside, Brigantia sighed in relief. This incarnation was back on track. She wondered how long it would take for her to encounter Hope.


End file.
